Marcello: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Mob Daddies Book 1)

by Alexa Hart

  Unsure as to what I should do, I straightened out my sweater and pants, smoothed my hair as best I knew how without access to a mirror’s approval, folded my hands and sat. I remembered thinking there were a multitude of books in the sitting room that first night, but now, in what must be the house library, I was astounded by the shelves upon shelves full. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling, and a few aisles – exactly like a public library – took up the northern half of the room. The rest was dotted with armchairs and side tables – some large, some small. Apparently, we had sat on the only couch in the room, and I ran my hand over its smooth surface feeling impatient and wild.

  I had known exactly who Abigail Greene was before I came here this evening. Presently, I was delighted to be at a loss as to who this heated, hungry creature was inhabiting my body.

  When Marcello did return a good fifteen minutes later, he had a sheepish grin on his lips and what I could only assume was a mild blush on his cheeks. He came and sat beside me – not bothering to leave any space between us this time.

  “I would have been quicker,” he began, turning to me and grabbing one of my hands gently with his own, “but I had to... I had to calm down first.” He chuckled openly and I let a small giggle out myself, feeling the electric current shooting up my arm at his touch. “Marta was my nanny as well. She’s somewhat of a mother figure to me – even at this age – and I attempt to be the perfect gentleman whenever she’s around. Which is always.” He laughed again, and he really did seem like a boy who just got caught missing curfew.

  It was endearing, and it was hot. His wavy hair was a bit more unkempt than usual, and his eyes were so incredibly open and warm that more than ever I realized I had deeply mistaken this beautiful man.

  “You have to know I’m sorry. I need you to really know that,” I spoke without meaning to. Looking at him this closely he seemed much more scarred, much more vulnerable. His charisma and confidence were intoxicating, but this raw man in front of me also radiated with the suffering of untold ghosts.

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Abby. I appreciate the sentiment, but you weren’t entirely off base.” His eyes had hardened considerably with just those few words, and he looked at the floor now, not meeting my gaze. “Gia - Gia will always be safe. Gia will always be safe.” He turned back to me, and the stern expression on his face caused me to stiffen.

  This Marcello – this was the Marcello I did not know. This was the Marcello that worried me.

  He shook his head and laced his fingers through my own. “We can talk about whatever you want, Abby. But not right now.” The air was thickening with that insane electricity again and Marcello pulled me to my feet. “We have some unfinished business, yes?” He grinned, and even with the support of both his hands I felt dangerously close to collapsing to the floor in delirium.

  “Yes,” I murmured, sure that I would be dead from sheer anticipation long before we “finished our business”.

  “Okay then,” he purred, and began leading me out of the library to some other sector of his colossal residence. “There are better places to do this, I think.” He looked back at me over his shoulder as he spoke and gave an impish wink.

  I realized at that moment that Marcello could lead me straight into the depths of hell and I would happily follow.

  Chapter 5

  The Morano household was a maze of hallways and staircases. By the time Marcello had led me to our point of destination I knew that under no circumstance would I be able to find my way back out alone. We were deep in the labyrinth of the third floor, and Marcello flicked on a lamp near the doorway to the chosen room.

  A mammoth four poster bed – antique and proud in its own grandeur – was the centerpiece of the room. There were multiple other lamps, decorative chairs, dressers, a few larger-than-life mirrors; and at a different time, I might be slowly fascinated by each of them in turn.

  Presently, I was already fascinated by something – someone else.

  The walk had given me just enough time to work up a tight ball of anxiety in my stomach. I looked awkwardly at Marcello, wishing we were back in the library where things had happened too fast to allow time for nervousness. I was starting to worry now that I’d completely lost my mind.

  He smiled (always that smile – I could live and die in that smile) and pulled me to him. He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips delicately. “When you are with me, Abby...” he spoke, gently using both hands to pull my sweater up and over my head swiftly, “...you are safe.” He then knelt down and put his hands on my waist, kissing my stomach so tenderly that my body visibly trembled. “Never be scared.” Now he patiently undid the button and zipper to let loose my pants. “And never feel that you have to hide anything from me.” My pants were being slowly pulled down until they met the floor. Marcello gingerly took one of my feet in his hands, removed the heel, and placed it back on the lush carpet. I knew I was utterly shaking now but had absolutely no way to stop it. His touch and his words coupled with the tender motions of undressing me like I was made of crystal, combined into a sensual stimulator that far outdid any of the sexiest images I had previously conjured up of this moment. I was putty in his hands, plain and simple.

  The other heel removed, he looked up at me with those eyes and now I saw a new level of animalistic desire in them that made me feel slightly insane and utterly weak. I had chosen a very flattering set of nude bra and panties – trying to convince myself it was because my sweater required a nude bra, but knowing it really to be because the set I chose shimmered and glittered on my otherwise bare body, creating the illusion that I was already completely naked and sparkling like a star. Seeing the hunger grow in his demeanor, I knew I had chosen well.

  He slid back up to standing position, pressing against me as he rose. Steady hands reached around my back and undid the hooks with confidence. My bra dropped to the floor and Marcello stood back slightly, as though wanting to fully take in the picture before he destroyed it. He met my gaze once more and spoke with great conviction, “Abby. You are safe here. You are safe with me.”

  I nodded, wild and impatient, and he brought my breasts to his mouth forcefully, greedily circling them with his tongue and using his hands to massage both in turn. Tingling – sweet, sanity-stealing tingling – was shooting through my body like electric fire from the tip of both breasts. His tongue was tireless, exploring every last piece of flesh on them as though he had to taste it all – mark it all.

  And then he was lifting me up, carrying me to the bed, lowering me gently with impressive strength that I knew he could just as easily use to crush me. He kissed down my stomach to my panties, and slowly began pulling them down, patiently removing them from each leg. He then worked his way back up, kissing one calf, then the other, then my thighs – up one side and down, up the other, down – until I thought I might scream from the torture. By the time his mouth actually caressed my quivering slit, I knew I was already dripping with the beginnings of an explosion I could hardly hold for a second longer. His tongue curled sweetly into my depths, licking, sucking, tasting, and driving me to absolute madness. I was coming – so close to coming – vibrating with pleasure and raising my hips to meet his mouth with eager, pulsating need, when he suddenly pulled his head back, just barely grazing my soaked, aching skin which spread wide like a rose in bloom.

  “Say my name, Abby.”

  My shock at his sudden withdrawal had turned me somewhat savage. I moaned, rising angrily and trying to reach those lips again with my body, but he stayed still and held me down.

  “Say it, Abby.”

  “Marcello,” I breathed, writhing and steaming as his tongue immediately returned heatedly to the throbbing mess before it. And there. It was coming, coming, I was coming - and arching, aching, moaning into the ecstasy over and over “Marcello... Marcello...”

  A certain delirium had set in as I climaxed, and my body started to feel limp as the waves of pleasure subsided. I opene
d my eyes and saw him staring at me, watching me orgasm, looking like a rabid wolf ready to take down its prey. Eyes blazing fire, Marcello pulled off his own sweater with measured calmness. He seemed to be pacing himself, holding back what I knew would be an inner beast being unleashed. Those still-steady hands undid his belt, pushed down his pant legs, and all the while he never broke eye contact with me.

  I was in silent awe. He was a god – I was in the presence of a god. Every muscle, every curve, every edge defined like a mountain range of fleshly perfection... The tattoo I had previously spied stretched sexily all the way up his bicep, over his shoulder, and covered the majority of his back. The stars – three distinct black outlines led to a phrase that I recognized as Italian but could not translate. “Sangue, fuoco e morte prima del tradimento.”

  His back, rippling with tensed, aggressive muscles, seemed intricately decorated with a coat of arms or family crest... I couldn’t tell for sure and I lost sight of them as he came to me, pushing down the last of his clothing and revealing Marcello Morano in his full, divinely endowed glory.

  And then he was over me – face to face – and time froze. Such a picture we must have made, his olive skin and panther-like body holding still over my creamy white frame, still shaking from its recent exhilaration. I thought for a moment that this – this was what everyone wanted and struggled their entire lives to find – if they ever did find it. This right here.

  We were both simmering – so ready, and Marcello closed his eyes suddenly. “Dammit. Condom.” He started to rise and I pulled him back to me aggressively, shaking my head.

  “Birth control.” I had never been more thankful that in spite of my somewhat spotty dating life, I had faithfully taken those fucking pills every single damn day.

  “Oh - thank Christ,” he breathed out.

  And then there was no more waiting. Marcello entered me slowly, as though he wanted me to experience every last inch of himself. His skin deliciously massaged my already crazily alive insides as he went deeper and deeper until I let out an unhindered moan. He kissed my lips passionately, put a hand to my cheek, then let it slide to my neck and tighten in a heated grip as he let loose that wild creature that had been so carefully contained up until this very moment. I closed my eyes and clenched my body tightly – greedily – around his intrusion inside of me, never wanting to let go of this sensation of untamed lust – never wanting to let go of him. Every thrust fueled the fire of whatever insatiable, carnal demon had possessed me, and I held onto Marcello vigorously, embedding my nails in his muscular back and biting, kissing, attacking his skin.

  Marcello steadily lunged... deeper... harder... faster... until I felt him growing and throbbing inside of me on the edge of his own oblivion. He released and a growl-like sound came from somewhere deep inside of him – turning his remaining plunges into barbaric, delicious jolts and making me scream freely as I coaxed every last drop out of his body and into my own.

  It had never been like this. Not with anyone. Marcello collapsed on me, resting his head on my breasts, and I softly caressed his face while wondering hungrily how long until we could go again.

  We were both lying on our backs, breathing heavily. Marcello grabbed my hand and we stayed like that for what felt like a very long time. I felt the air coming back into my lungs little by little; and the happy, exhausted soreness of ecstasy-provoking exertion made the world seem dreamlike.

  “You,” he finally spoke, sounding tired yet pleased. “Where did you even come from?” He let out a soft chuckle and rolled towards me. I grinned and met his gaze, almost wishing I hadn’t.

  This is bad. This is so bad.

  He lay on his side like a Greek deity in all his glory, giving me that smile and glowing with something new – as if he hadn’t glowed enough before. He was happy. I saw a satisfaction and warmth that immediately made my insides clench, and a new panic started rising within my belly.

  I need him. I have to have him. I can’t not have him after this. I will never want anything else. No one else will ever be good enough. No one else can ever be this to me.

  The adrenaline and pleasure overload had exhausted me physically and mentally to the point where I couldn’t quite guard my heart with my usual rigor. I felt like someone had removed a safety net from me when I wasn’t looking. I had not given him permission to make me feel this way – bare and starving and taken. I hadn’t been prepared to lose years of sound, solid footing in under an hour to this man – this mysterious creature who had stolen my soul effortlessly.

  “What’s wrong?” He put a hand to my cheek, and I realized my face must have given away my newly creeping anxiety.

  I tried to compose myself, and felt an inexplicable lump forming in my throat. Oh my god, Abby. Do not be that psychopath girl that cries after sex. Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake. I forced a tepid smile. “This. This was just...” I faltered, and Marcello raised an eyebrow. “This was just really good,” I finished lamely.

  Marcello grinned and pulled me to him so that we were full skin upon skin. He lifted my chin until I had to look at him straight on, and I was terrified that I might tear up. “It was a bit better than good, right?” I nodded, and he kissed me on the forehead, nearly blowing my tightly held composure with those lips. “It scares you.”

  I nodded again and put my head against his chest, tracing the skin of his tattooed forearm with one tiny finger, and letting the terror flood over me. Too good. What am I supposed to do with this? It’s too good. And if it ends it’s going to destroy me.

  Marcello seemed to read my thoughts. He calmly held me to him, delicately stroking my hair against my back, and finally spoke. “Abby, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you.” He paused, running a hand over my incredibly bare and smooth backside. “And I won’t ever let anyone else hurt you either.”

  I was pressed so hard into him that I thought for a moment maybe I could just stay here. Stay like this forever – safe and happy and naked – hiding nothing, and having no reason to. I sucked in a deep breath from his neck and felt my body tingle from head to toe. This man – who and where and why and -

  Criminal.

  It was startling. I had surely known that the questions were still there, awaiting their due time to barge into this afterglow and demand acknowledgement. I had momentarily forgotten, somehow, and I detested them crawling back over my mind with their unwanted onslaught.

  “I don’t - I don’t really know you,” I managed to state, hating myself instantly as I felt his body tense against mine. He pulled back so that I was again forced to make eye contact.

  “You do. You know everything that matters. And I know you,” his hand tightened on my naked hip. His eyes were still warm, but careful now and searching my face. “Ask me what you want to ask me, Abby.”

  But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything anymore.

  Chapter 6

  Whether or not I still wanted to know all of Marcello’s secrets, there was, I realized, no good way to start that conversation.

  “Oh hey, okay so like if you could just clarify for me the depths of your involvement with the mafia, that’d be great. Cuz I think I’m going to fall in love with you at some point in the near future and the thought of this never happening again makes me want to puke cuz I like, need you now, but I’m still not sure if you’re like, well, a criminal. Are you a criminal, Marcello? Great sex by the way. Five stars.”

  I shook my head. I definitely couldn’t use that speech. Frustration started to work its way up my spine, and I suddenly felt a shot of rebellion at my own lack of courage. I looked at him, waiting expectantly with a pleasant – but guarded, he’s guarded again – expression on his face, and closed my eyes. “The mafia. I sound silly, Marcello – I just have to know... Just tell me I’m ridiculous and I can let it go and you can laugh at me whenever it comes up, okay?”

  He wasn’t smiling anymore, and the pleasantness had faded into something much more foreboding. I searched his face for any s
ign at all that this somehow amused him – that it was all a rumor-mill myth.

  Marcello’s jaw flexed, and he gave a slight shake of his head, running troubled fingers through his hair. “I can’t tell you you’re ridiculous, Abby. I do very much wish I could.” He lay back down and stared straight at the ceiling, and a cold wave of horror washed over me. “I’m not, per se, what you’re asking. Not exactly. I am a defense lawyer – and I have one client. That client and his associates keep me very busy – to the point where I don’t need to join a firm. I am a firm. And I’m on retainer. For the rest of my foreseeable future.”

  I had also laid back down, dutifully locking my eyes on the ceiling while he spoke. I felt stiff. Like a stone. “And your client?”

  A hard chuckle from Marcello - “You mean who the hell is he, correct?” Another pause. “Stefano Rossi. He is my employer, he is a mafia boss, and I owe him my life, Abby.”

  I was sure I would stare at that ceiling forever, because it had become impossible to fathom moving or speaking while also processing the words coming out of Marcello’s beautiful mouth.

  “He raised me,” Marcello continued. “My parents died when I was very young – two. I barely remember them. Rossi was my father’s best friend. They grew up together in the city. Boys, then men. But Rossi came from a different world. My father easily could have joined it, and I think he would have, but as Rossi tells it, my mother begged him to stay straight. And so he did. They married. They had me. They were not rich. And my father kept his promise to my mother.

  “They died. A car crash. Similar to Celia’s passing, in some ways. Sudden. Ruthless.” His voice sounded like stretched steel now. “I had no one – no living relatives, nowhere to go except the foster system, and Rossi took me in. Legally adopted me. Raised me. He put me through law school. He paid for my wedding. He never, not once, pressured me to be involved in his dealings in any way. He wanted to respect my father’s choices by giving me my own.”